


inter (linked)

by Preach



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Cousin Incest, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 08:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17598068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Preach/pseuds/Preach
Summary: Prompt fill: Erik's unit is assigned to guard T'Challa after the UN incident.





	inter (linked)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingsdead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsdead/gifts).



“We have a situation,” Everett Ross said grimly, his arms folded across his chest.

Erik stiffened, his mind whirring as Ross briefed his unit.

T’Challa was _here?_

T’Challa. In CIA custody. Just a corridor away.

Erik’s hands curled into fists.

 _Fuck!_ He wasn’t prepared to deal with this.

When he had agreed to take on the assignment to Vienna, it was on the understanding that the job would be fairly straightforward. This was supposed to be a low-risk low-demand mission, typically given to agents when they were recovering from serious injuries or coming off a string of difficult missions. Nothing too strenuous - some patrolling, some guard duty, some standing about with a gun and looking intimidating.

His team had barely even stepped off the plane when news reached them that the UN compound had been attacked. Bombed by the Winter Soldier himself. King T’Chaka, along with several other foreign dignitaries, was now dead.

Ross rubbed at his temples. “We have Prince T’Challa in custody now. We _had_ the Winter Soldier, Captain America and the Falcon too, but they’ve somehow broken out just hours ago. They’re on the run together now.”

A image flashed on the screen - Prince T’Challa, alone in his holding cell.

T’Challa was slouching, hands cuffed before him on the desk. The expression on his face couldn’t be seen, but his body language was plainly obvious.

T’Challa was broken. _Devastated._

A muscle twitched in Erik’s jaw.

“Guard the Prince until the higher-ups tell us what to do with him. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

 

* * *

 

Erik was well-respected, and his team listened to him. It wasn’t difficult to make suggestions to the guard rotation schedule, to arrange it so that he had a window of time alone with T’Challa.

By the time he reached T'Challa's holding cell, Erik had already mostly made up his mind.

 

* * *

 

T'Challa was hunched over the table, his head in his hands. He looked up as the door swung open.

His cousin looked so...

Erik swallowed.

It was like looking in a mirror.

T'Challa's eyes were ringed with red. Bottom lip almost bitten through. That helpless look of bone-deep grief and futile rage in his eyes…

Erik's heart twisted painfully, memories of deeply-buried hurt rising to the surface.

The night of his father’s murder, Erik had cradled his father’s bloody body to his chest, choking back sobs. The same grief, rage and helpless despair burning in his blood. Knowing that his father’s murderer was out there, walking free, but unable to do anything about it.

Erik gritted his teeth. Impulsively, he stalked forward and uncuffed T'Challa, before he could talk himself out of it.

“You can go,” Erik announced roughly, glaring at a blank spot on the wall over T’Challa’s shoulder.

 _“Thank_ you,” T'Challa said, jerking his wrists free of the handcuffs.

The cold dignity in T’Challa’s voice was so infuriating that Erik almost, _almost_ changed his mind on the spot. But it was already too late for that. Now that T’Challa wasn’t restrained, there was no way that Erik could force T’Challa back into those cuffs. Not when the power of the heart-shaped herb was still running through his veins, endowing T’Challa with the Black Panther’s superhuman strength and reflexes.

Erik clenched his fists, fighting back the reflexive internal upswell of rage and hatred.

 _Control_ , he reminded himself. _This isn’t the right time. This isn’t the right place for this fight._

As T'Challa stood up and made to leave, Erik held out a hand to bar his way.

“Not like that,” Erik said, “knock me out first.”

T’Challa blinked. “Why -”

He paused. Erik could almost see the gears whirring in T’Challa’s head as he put the pieces together, quickly coming to the realization that this release had not exactly been sanctioned. His eyes wide, T’Challa turned to look directly at Erik, as if he were seeing Erik properly for the first time.

Erik held his gaze fearlessly. There was a long pause as T’Challa studied him, searching for something in Erik’s face.

“My condolences,” T'Challa said quietly. “Who did you lose?”

“My -” Erik’s voice broke. He couldn't bring himself to say it on the first try. Erik swallowed past the lump forming in his throat and forced the words out. “My father. His killer - his killer got away too.”

Hatred rose up in Erik, a bitter, swelling wave that threatened to overwhelm. A familiar friend.

“I'm so sorry,” T’Challa murmured.

The irony of that apology, coming from T'Chaka's son, would almost be laughable, except that Erik felt as if his heart was about to break in two. He gritted his teeth and looked down at the floor, unable to bear the weight of T’Challa’s soft, sympathetic gaze.

“Will you get into trouble for this?” T'Challa asked.

Erik shrugged, a non-answer. This was the first time that his unit had been assigned to Everett Ross, and he didn’t know enough about Ross to predict how the handler would react. Obviously, Ross wasn’t going to be happy that a high-profile prisoner under his charge had escaped. But T’Challa was now on record as a metahuman, and it wouldn’t be strange if he had overpowered his mundane guards and broken free. Erik hoped that no one would ask him too many questions, what with the chaos of Captain America, the Falcon and the Winter Soldier breaking out of CIA custody on the same day.

And it wasn’t as if Erik had been planning on a long-term career in the military anyway. A black mark on his record wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

“Look, don't worry about all that,” Erik said, when it became apparent that T’Challa was still waiting for his response. “That’s not your problem. Just go. Kill the Winter Soldier. Get your revenge.” Erik bared his teeth, a feral smile unconsciously twisting up the corners of his mouth.

Still, T'Challa didn’t move. “Is there anything I can do for you? I do have some influence -”

“Forget it,” Erik snarled. “Just knock me out and go! Stop wasting time. The longer you delay here, the more suspicious this is gonna look. Get out of here.”

T’Challa finally seemed to see reason. He moved in closer towards Erik, raising a hand to him.

Erik fought down the instinct to recoil back and instead, deliberately forced himself to remain still. He braced himself for pain. Unconsciousness. Slackened his jaw so that he could take a punch without causing bite damage to his tongue or lips, loosened his stance so that he wouldn’t bruise too badly when he hit the floor.

But to his shock, T’Challa just placed a warm, gentle hand on the side of his neck, drawing their foreheads together.

Erik inhaled sharply. “What -?”

They were so close now. Almost nose to nose. Erik could practically trace each of T’Challa’s long dark eyelashes. T’Challa’s lips, plush and bite-swollen. T’Challa’s breath, warm against the surface of his own lips.

Erik’s heart rate spiked into the stratosphere.

_He’s my own fucking cousin! My enemy -_

A pinch on the side of his neck. A gentle but relentless force, applied directly above his acupressure point. Dark spots began to swim in front of Erik’s eyes, spreading out and mixing into each other to form bottomless dark patches across his vision.

_“Oh -”_

The soft gasp that escaped Erik’s lips was so embarrassingly breathy that he immediately felt his cheeks flush hot. But he was getting dizzy now. Limbs slack, muscles no longer responding to his will. He couldn’t have gotten away from T’Challa even if he’d tried.

(He didn’t try.)

T’Challa’s arms came up around Erik, gently supporting his weight as Erik slid down toward the floor.

Erik’s last memory was of T’Challa warm hands on him, arranging his pliant body into a comfortable position, before his eyelids fluttered shut.


End file.
